Page 192 of The Dragon's Daughter
Rasoul’s footsteps disappear and the sleeping guard’s snores start to fade as I head for the cell tucked away in the southern corner.
I have no other choice.
A thought that does little to soothe the dread gnawing at my stomach. The nausea that surges when I slot the key in the door and push it open.
“Now, this is a surprise.”
Years fade away as the voice washes over me. Amused and melodic, it sounds just as it did on the day we first met.
The day when my fate changed forever.
“I need a suitor.”
Sand coats the inside of my mouth, the shackles running from the wall seeming to cling to my wrists rather than the prisoner.
“The tournament for my hand begins in less than six weeks. You will be competing against eleven other suitors, all of whom will be fighting for a portion of my father’s business and half a billion dollars.”
Gold, richer and more beautiful than any of my father’s lavish ornaments, follow my movements into the cell.
“And here I thought you would propose on one knee.”
“Shut up.”
I snap back with as much rage as I can muster, reminding myself there is no room for heartache.
Not anymore.
“I will pay your entry fee and you will compete beneath an alias. One that will serve to secure you position among the royalty attending.”
There’s not enough air in this prison cell. Not enough distance between the pieces of my heart and the person who broke them.
Not enough space for me to ignore the maturity radiating from a now unfamiliar body.
“If you win, the charges pressed against you will be dropped and there will be no more imprisonment. You will get a portion of the Malik fortune and there will be no ties between us after a quick divorce.”
“And if I fail?”
“You will return to this cell and the execution date will be effective immediately.” My lips purse together, “Or you will die competing.”
“Helps to keep things simple.”
I watch those big yellow eyes rake over the curves I didn’t have seven years ago. Listen to the sharp intake of breath when they land on my piercing.
Skin that was once a beautiful shade of caramel has faded over the years of captivity. Streaks of blue mark the uneven surface, teasing twirls of magic woven beneath the thin cotton of the prisoner’s uniform.
Bitterness pools in my gut as I soak in the pen marks. The familiar script that whispers promises of something ancient, something from another world.
It’s a trick, a slight of hand created by a clever street performer. An illusion that can be washed away with a good bar of soap.
I would know.
“My freedom for yours.” My throat feels parched, excruciatingly dry as I extend my hand, “Do we have a deal, Genie?”
A long, brown braid tumbles over the Malik family crest.
The thin cot squeaks as the figure climbs off it and bridges the distance between us. I listen to the shackles drag along the floor, feeling my heart grow heavy as regret joins the turbulent emotions swishing around inside.
The woman who broke my heart seven years ago takes my hand.
Squeezes it with a smile I once knew so well.
“We have a deal.”
